Shit just got real.

"Megan", I can hear you say already. "Shouldn't you be composing a 1000 word essay on the effectiveness of the British colonies?" 

"Yes," I say to you gently. "But I'd rather stab myself in the eye with my own orbital bone than do that right now." 

"Gory imagery there. Shouldn't you have put a rating or some forewarning that today's imagery would be so grotesque? I mean, what if a kid read that? They'd surely be traumatized." you say back. 

"No." I answer. "Kids can handle it. I mean, have you SEEN Ke$has new video? A little stabbing with an orbital bone is nothing compared to that." 

"Touche," I hear you say. 

"Did you know that spellcheck says that the spelling of touche is incorrect?" I mention. "It suggests that maybe I meant to type douche, and in retrospect, that would probably been a funnier word to use there." 

Are you uncomfortable? I am. Enough talking for today. 

So. I've noticed another strange phenomena that has occurred in my life recently. I call it the "Calender Blindness", or C.B for short. This sad condition has a few symptoms. 

First, you may lose track of the day. You may even find yourself turning to a trusted companion and asking, "What day is it good sir/madam?" This is stage one of C.B.

Stage two is the denial phase. This usually occurs after the question in stage one has been answered, and you reply, "No way. It was January first like... four days ago." You will usually encounter the "concerned shoulder pat" here. 

Stage three is the most dangerous. Because you have completely lost track of time's subtle passage, you will begin to pretend you know what day it is. This brings me to the stage I'm at right now, and I blame the government for my case of C.B, and all other maladies that I am currently stricken with right now. It's easier to blame everything on the government because Harper is one silly looking biznitch, and it makes me feel better. 

Anyway. Story time. So, I'm discussing my school due dates with my mother last night. I know, a teenager who actually talks to her mother. Take a moment to still your thundering heart. 

Stilled? Good. So, we're discussing one of my projects. I tell her it's due on March 1st, so I'll start working on it this coming Tuesday or Thursday. My stage three case of C.B has decided it's still February 18th, so I'm thinking that March 1st is still a ways away. That's when my mother politely informs me that March 1st is this coming Tuesday. And then I'm all,

And she's all, "You didn't know what today was, did you?" 

And of course I'm all,

And I say, "LOL, no seriously, is the 1st really next week?" 

And she looks at me all,

And she's all, "OMG you really didn't know what today was."

So, I'm all, "Could you help me break my orbital bone and stab myself in the eye?" Because now I realize how bad my case of C.B is, and I need to start on all those projects that I had wrongly assumed I could put off for another day. 

Then, like the good little student I am, I shuffle off to the computer to start my essay, among many other projects. But reading turns quickly to this,

And my future quickly turns from me graduating university to living in a cardboard box in a smelly alleyway with my dog named Russ. 

On another note, I wear glasses. That information will be important in a moment, don't fret.

So, I'm typing away a few minutes ago, and I notice my neck has begun to hurt. I work on my laptop, so it's not uncommon for me to sit improperly and wind up with a sore neck. Naturally, I ignore it. 

Then, as I'm typing, I realize why my neck has begun to hurt. I realize that my glasses are so dirty that I've begun to try and look AROUND all the specks. Funny enough, my neck stopped hurting after I cleaned my glasses. 

Not funny? 

Guess you had to be there. 

On another note, no Katy Perry, I've never felt like a plastic bag floating through the wind, because I'm not on drugs. 

Adieu.

Love,
Megan

Excuse me

So. I was out shopping last night, and I've noticed something.

Go with me on this journey. You're standing in the aisle of a bookstore. You're looking for one particular book. Maybe it's Twilight, maybe it's Apocalypse for Dummies. Either way, you're on an epic quest. Then, in a flash of blinding white light, you see your book.

But, it's at the other end of the aisle of which you are in the middle of, and standing between you and your literary prize is a hoard of people all flipping through books and not paying any attention to you whatsoever. In your head, you weigh your options. You can turn and take the long way around that will hopefully be less populated, or you can "excuse me" your way through the pack.

And like the fearless person you are, you choose to split that group like the Red Sea.

"Let's dance, bitches," you say, but you say it in your head, because otherwise you'll look nuts. You lift one foot, and march towards the crowd.

Being fearless, but polite, you say aloud, "Excuse me". And then you realize you should have taken the long way around, because this little dance battle is not going to be won by you without some damage to either your dignity or your brain.

You see, the response to someone saying "excuse me" is never, "Let me get out of your way". It's, "Let me make this even more inconvenient and uncomfortable for you."

There's the Non-Mover. This one glances up at you, then looks back down at the book their reading and don't move.

There's the Snob, who moves, but begins to breathe like an angry horse at the fact that they had to move a little to allow you passage to the book you probably won't even buy after being so badly traumatized.

There's also the Underestimator. They laugh nervously and open up a nice little space of three inches in which they expect you to pass. While I'm flattered that they think I only take up three inches of space, I'm also horrified because they just opened the door to something dark and unpleasant. It's called the Shuffle, and your dignity and innocence is about to die a little when you take your next step.

To complete the shuffle, you'll have to arrange your body and whatever purse/bag/man bag/disco ball you're carrying, and contort yourself to fit into the 3 inch space to get to your damn book. Sidling up to the rows of books, you try and scoot by without incident. You aren't so lucky, because the universe doesn't work like that, bucko.

It's now that your innocence dies, and your dignity shuffles to a back corner in your brain to dress it's wounds, mostly because your butt just grazed the other person, and shit just got rough. You did the Shuffle, and you got burnt. Sorry, insert one token to play again.

There's the Bulky One. These lovely people move graciously out of your way, but their numerous shopping bags/body bag of a purse still has it's fists up. You smile and thank the person, and prepare to be punched in the face and beaten mercilessly by the forest of bags. At least they didn't make you do the Shuffle.

Bruised, bloodied and violated, you stumble your way over to your book. This victory is papery, but short lived. You still have to get to the cash registers.

When you do, you see that there is a line up. It's not an organized one though, so you're going to have to ask whose in line to find the magical pattern that makes up the line. Pulling your big boy pants up, you ask the person nearest to you, "Are you in line?"

And a whole new shitshow starts.

The person will do one of a few things. One, they'll look at you like you just punched a baby, and say nothing. Two, they'll shake their heads and continue standing there looking like they're in the line. These are the decoys, and they'll get you every damn time.

Finally, you find the end of the line. You think your ordeal is over, but fate is not that kind. You're stuck behind a Floater. They float out of line and to look at all the little trinkets and stuff by the registers. You never know if you should take their place in line, or wait for them to dance back over to the line. Still traumatized, you let the Floater continue and hold your tongue.

Then, a phenomenon happens that boggles the mind. If you're like me and on the short side, you become the doorway through the line. Every single person that needs to cut through the line will choose directly in front of you for their cutting place. You're going to walk back and forth so many times that by the end of it, the floor under your feet will be worn away. Finally, you get to the register. You pay, and run out of the store. Your battle is over, but only for now. You'll be back.

That last part was totally meant to be read in your best Arnold voice. Though it doesn't sound like "I'll be back" when it's in his accent. It sounds more like, "Ahhhhhl be baaahhhccckk". The last word should sound like you have a head cold and are trying to clear your throat. That's the official "talk like Arnold" tutorial.

On that note, does anyone else find it hilarious that Governor Arnold is doing his best to keep foreigners out of California? Last time I checked, the governor was from I'll-be-back-istan, not Cali. Just sayin.

Anyway. I have to go write an essay on the effectiveness of the British colonies. Yeah. I fell asleep just writing that sentence.

Adieu!

Love,
Megan

Perks

No, not that kind.

So. I've been 18 for almost a month now, and I'm learning some of the perks of my old age.

In the eyes of my younger sisters, I am now an even bigger badass then I was before. Now when someone is mean to them they can say that they can get their 18 year old sister to find someone to beat them up. Perk +1.

Now, when I talk about the many celebrity men I would become a polygamist for, no one can give me the old, "A little old for you, sweetie? Oh ho ho, I bet you've never heard that joke before." This is especially useful because I suddenly have a thing for men in their thirties, apparently.

I mean, really.

Jensen Ackles? 32.

Michael Buble? 35.

Ewan McGregor? 39.

Leonardo DiCaprio? 36.

Ian Somerhalder? 32.

Need I say more? Also, my spellcheck is going into an epileptic seizure with some of those last names. No, his last name isn't bauble, it's Buble. Or, bubbly, as I may have said in the past AKA yesterday.

Anyway. Now, when I get that response, I'm all, "I'M OF LEGAL AGE, BITCHES."

Oh, except Logan Lerman. He's 19, which is definitely not in the range of 30-39, but still okay with me. If I had a sleazy face gif, I'd put it here.

Oh, and six degrees of separation: Logan was in a movie with Jake Abel, who played Adam Milligan on Supernatural. Mmhmm. Jake is also adorable, and 23.

I had a point, I'm sure. I've forgotten entirely what I had intended to talk about, so let's have a rousing chat about how I have to do an online orientation course for the 90th time. Yeah, I have another teacher that is all, "Just do the course so we're sure you want to do the course". Uh... I need this credit, or I don't graduate. I think my wanting to do the course is kind of a done deal, genius.

On yet another note, I learned where the phrase "Jump the shark" came from yesterday. Y'know how most sayings aren't meant to be taken literally? Yeah. That one started out literally, when the Fonz jumped a shark while water skiing. For the record, don't youtube that. That is so much more of the Fonz than I ever wanted to see it's kind of scary. 

I have to go back to pretending like I'm being productive now.

Adieu.

Love,
Megan

Don't be a drag, just be a queen.

So. I watched the Grammys last night. Grammies? Grammys? Spellcheck doesn't know what to think, OH THE HUMANITY.

Anyway. I expected the Grammys to be another festival of canned music and singing to tracks. It was, partly. But, right off the top they had their tribute to Aretha Franklin, and good lord there were actually people singing live. As if that wasn't amazing enough, they had Florence mother-effing Welch there. 

I have such a girl-crush on that woman it's a little ridiculous, just sayin. 

So, the show starts off with Florence. I suddenly have hope for the rest of the show. Then, Gaga preforms. My head was aflame the entire time. Then Muse preformed in sequined jackets. It was almost too much for my little heart to bear. Specially that little shout out to Charles and Camilla. It was bloody awwwwesome. 

So, Gaga preformed her new single "Born This Way", and I'm sure it's obvious by the title what the song is about. Naturally, I loved everything about her performance. 

Now, this post is going to be a little different. I'm not going to mention Supernatural, nor am I going to joke about how flippin' awesome Nicki Minaj looked in her balloon legged leopard print outfit.

So, I'm not going to be coy about it. I'm a vocal supporter of the GLBT community, and gay rights. I even asked our church minister why gay marriages weren't performed at our church, because I have a nutsack the size of Russia when it comes to things I really believe in. I'm a chicken all other hours of the day, but I'm like an intolerance bloodhound, though sans droopy ears. I can smell intolerance from 14 feet away, and I speak the hell up when I can. It's one of my idiosyncrasies, my inability to grow a pair unless I'm defending someone.  I'm pretty adorable, I know. 

So, that Gaga segue was to get to my point. If I hear another person use the phrase "That's gay", my head is going to detonate like a nuclear warhead. 

Seriously, that phrase needs to be ousted. It's rude, and it's discriminatory. No, it's not just a modern slang phrase. It's hateful, and it needs to stop.

I can hear the argument already that it's not as bad as I'm making it out to be. Really guys, it is. It's taking a situation or object that is unsatisfactory or uncool and associating the word "gay" to it. I know it may not seem like a big deal, but it is. 

I actually haven't heard someone use the phrase in a while, but just recently someone used it again. I thought it had died off, but I guess not. The worst part of it was that it was the parent of two little kids. I get the trickle up phenomenon. My mother knows plenty of slang phrases because me and my sister use them, and that's cool. 

But, what message does it send for a parent to use the phrase "That's gay"?

It says that using the phrase is okay. Because, if mom and dad do it, it must be okay. It's a natural thought process for a kid to have. 

It's so far from cool it's almost on par with the Backstreet Boys. Almost.

So, just for the sake of this poor girl's heart, spare a thought and try not to use the phrase? You've heard all the political campaigns. One person can make a difference. 

Except Bieber. He counts for nothing except a really good example of someone who needs to make an appointment at Supercuts.

Oh, and Haley Williams. Girl, you are adorable. Like, really, stupidly adorable, and I totally would be your best friend. But GIRL, what were you wearing at the Grammys? You gave my eyes an epic sad.

I'm Megan, and I approve this message. I also approve of Cee-Lo Green at the Grammys. That was one fabulous acid trip of a performance.

Tomorrow, back to our usually programming of Supernatural references and complaining about school. As you were.

Love, 

Megan

STOOORY Time

Did you read that in your Oprah voice? Good.

So. I have another story, and lots of pretty pictures/Jensen Ackles to illustrate it. Ready to come on a little journey with me? Good.

So. I do all my schooling online. It's pretty awesome, and it works really well in my dingo-ate-my-baby-crazy life. As you may know, first semester has ended. Since it's ended, I have nothing to do while I wait for my next semester teachers to email me and lemme log in to my classes. Naturally, I've been all,

Y'know. Sleeping in late, lazing around. It's been awesome. So today, I'm watching Supernatural. Again, I'm all, 

And before I get off my ass to change the disk, I get the brilliant notion to check my email. So, I do. And what do I see? An email that says I can finally log on to one of my classes and get working. Now, I'm all, 

So I log on and see that I have to do an orientation course. It's the same orientation course I've done for EVERY other online class I've taken, and I've taken quite a few. But, since I've already done it, teachers are usually cool with me skipping the orientation. So things are looking up again. Then, I read something that elicits this reaction,

                                      

The site is all, "Even if you've done an orientation course before, you still need to compete this course." So, because I'm anal retentive, I feel the need to read all the discussion board messages, I take my first look at the  boards. Usually, there aren't more than 100 messages to read in an orientation course. So, I'm expecting that. 

What do my gorgeously colored eyes fall on? The words "1880 Unread Messages". This occurs,


                                       

And then this occurs,

It's not pretty. I still have 700 messages to go. I'm at the point where punching myself in the face is the better option than my current situation. Moral of the story? Don't mix stripes and floral. Just don't do it. 

Love,
Megan

What IS the square root of 69?

Just sayin, if Drake kept asking me what the square root of 69 was, I wouldn't have sexy time with him. I'd hand him a calculator then back away slowly. Just sayin.

Still not in next semester classes. Which means I'm still a lump on the couch. You can't see it, but I've got my arms up in the air like that casino commercial. It's still victory o'clock, so I'm in a fabulous mood. Once classes start again I'll go back to my sour self and the Earth will resume spinning. Dun worry, it gun be kay.

So. Since I've been listening to a lot of music lately, I've got some more to say about the industry. No, I'm not getting on any soapboxes and preaching about the Illuminati, don't worry.

Note, the next time you're on Youtube and are watching a music video, look for the one crazy comment going, "ONG ILLUMINATI!ONE!!" When you find it, and you will find one, trust me, I want you to point directly at your screen and laugh as loudly as possible. It's what I do, and it's very cathartic. Like Shakespeare.

Anyway. So, my observations.

One, Miley Cyrus makes me feel violent, and I take pride in normally being a pacifist. That is all.

Two, I really think someone should inform Taylor Swift that her career won't disappear if she writes a song about something other than her past relationships. I think we should encourage the behavior, in fact. I also encourage her sudden sporting of bangs. As part of the fringe club, I agree with her choice of bangs. I'm talking about hair, you sicko. Get your mind out of the gutter.

Three, Emily Osment did a good job going from Miley Cyrus sidekick to someone much more tolerable than Cyrus. The whole, "Lovesick" video is admittedly, kind of cool. Good on you, sidekick girl. Though, you lost all credibility when you sang a song with the chorus "Let's be friends so we can make out", but your use of blacklights is helping you gain back cool points.

Four, Black Eyed Peas. Tsk tsk tsk.

Five, Pink. Stop making me want to cut my hair into an edgy but stylish pixie cut. Just, stop it.

Six, Rihanna. If you need to ask what your name is that many times, you should probably see a doctor.

Seven, Linkin Park. Don't listen to all the people whining that Hybrid Theory was better. They're probably also the ones commenting about the Illuminati.

Eight, Nicki Minaj. Bissh, you crazy. Your split personality disorder is strangely fascinating though.

Nine, I'm good now.

Oh, and Jensen Ackles?

Had to.

Love,
Megan

STOOOORY Time

That title makes me feel like Oprah, and since Oprah's pretty much the ruler of the free world, feeling like her is pretty awesome.


Next on my list is to wake up feeling like P. Diddy.

That is his name right? It was the last time I checked, so let's go with it. 


So. Have you listened to any music lately? Like, really listened? Like, clench-your-ass-so-hard-you-could-put-a-rock-between-your-cheeks-and-make-a-diamond listened?


I have, and it was an interesting experience. I didn't have any rocks on hand though, so that sucks. By the way, Ke$ha is totally not wearing a neck-a-luss with Jesus on it in the We R Who We R video. 

I lost a third of my braincells typing the name of that song, so I hope you're happy.

Anyway. I used a Q-Tip yesterday, and nearly swabbed my brain. I have supersonic hearing as a result though, so I could actually hear the lyrics to the songs I was hearing. See that segue? That's why they pay me the big bucks. 


So, I've noticed a theme to some popular songs. They're kind of offensive/don't make any sense.

You want an example? Fine.

Bossy.


So, Ke$sha is all, "It's about damn time to live it up, I'm so sick of being so serious, It's makin' my brain delirious". Dude. Her every song is about being drunk and brushing her teeth with Jack. How does that indicate her being serious? That's sounds more "messy and drunk" to me. I think Ke$ha is lying about her reasoning for her brain being delirious, I'm just sayin. 


I think Fefe Dobson should apologize to everyone with a stutter who is now paranoid that everyone thinks they're lying because they stuttered. 


The Black Eyed Peas should be pimp slapped for sampling "The Time of Our Lives". Is nothing sacred anymore? 


Elise Estrada says, "MAC aint got enough concealer, To hide how much I’ll miss you" Oh, I think they do. And how precisely does one cover up missing you with concealer? I always thought missing someone was more of an internal thing, and concealer isn't recommended for use inside your head. Just sayin. 


I've also noticed that a lot of songs talk about a climactic moment in someone's life. Natalia Kills is all, "I'll make your love grenade explode". That needs no further explanation, I think. I'm looking at you Blake McGrath, and your little song about your... happy moment. 

Anyway. My brain cells are dwindling with all this talk. I have to go harvest more now.

Love,
Megan